(Love) Letters
by AquilaMage
Summary: Klavier leaves to study abroad. While waiting on the promise that he'll write, Sebastian is left to struggle with the feelings that come with the loss of his friend's presence. (Meanwhile, as his thoughts drift more and more towards their intended recipient, Klavier wonders why his letters keep going unanswered.)
1. Sebastian

Klavier promises, before he leaves for Germany, to write. That he'll make sure to get something out as quick as he can, so at least Sebastian has an address. "That way we can both send things back and forth. Try not to miss me too much until then, ja?"

And he doesn't, at first, too busy with the beginning of the school year to do much else but patiently ask his father every day if there had been any mail for him.

The first time he'd asked, Blaise had laughed about "who would even waste the paper on you?"

Sebastian didn't quite get the joke, but he laughed along anyway. "Klavier, of course! You remember I told you about him, pops! He's going to send me stuff while he's away."

"Is that so?" Sebastian felt a rush of joy go through him as Blaise studied him carefully. He'd really only mentioned his friend once or twice before, but he would have talked about him more often had he known it would be one of the rare times his father actually paid attention to what he was saying.

And after his father's earnest promise to keep an eye out for any letters, he can't help but feel a little disappointed for the both of them as time passes and Klavier still hasn't written him. At first it's easy to excuse. Sebastian has been busy with the start of the school year, so it only made sense that Klavier would, too, and even more so because it's a new place. Even as the weeks go by and he's surely written something, Germany is very far away after all, so obviously it's going to take a long while for anything to get here.

In the meantime, there's school, and while he's doing well academically (of course; he _is_ the best), he is more lonely this year. It's always been hard for him to make friends when everyone is so intimidated by him. Not to mention how often he would say something, clear and confident, that everyone would agree with in the moment, only for them to later turn around and say something that would twist his insides with the realization that he'd said something wrong, but never be given enough to know where it was he'd actually messed up. With Klavier, it had been different. Sebastian still said things with him and only later realized he'd misinterpreted part of the conversation, but Klavier's reaction had never been to make him feel bad about it.

And it's only now that he's without him that Sebastian realizes how much he'd treasured their meetings in the hall, shared glances in their classes together, the countless unhurried conversations tucked away in some corner of the quad after classes. He sits alone in one of their usual spots one afternoon, and wonders if Klavier is thinking about him too.

Sebastian's old excuses have just begun to run thin as midterms start, sending a new rush of hope through him as he thinks that Klavier must be planning a letter, wants to write, but is simply too busy.

And every day, without fail, he continues to ask his father if there has been any mail for him. Even if with every 'no' his heart sinks, mood just a little harder to salvage each time. One night, his father asks if he's sure that Klavier actually said what Sebastian thought he did. He protests that he _is_, but spends the night going over that last conversation with Klavier countless times, looking for some kind of sign that he might have been wrong. Even then, though, he eventually pushes past it. He knows Klavier better than that, and he trusts his friend to follow through with his promise. And besides, it's only been a year or so that he's known Klavier. It isn't as though he's never been without him.

Right as these self-reassurances seem in the moment, they don't change the fact that soon after, Sebastian finds himself crying in the little-used storage closet in the back of the theater department. He trails off into sniffles as an uncomfortable pit grows in his stomach. For a while he can't place it, until a bell reminds him of the time and it dawns on him that it's been a while since he'd last disappeared for most of the day and still been alone. Were it the past year, Klavier would have noticed a few classes in and, realizing that he wasn't coming back, would have clambered his way over around the props to sit down next to him.

Sebastian curls up on himself and tries to comfort himself with thoughts of what Klavier might say to him, were he here. All it succeeds in doing, however, is bringing up memories of the past and making him feel far worse. He misses Klavier's confidence and warmth that manages to soothe him merely by his presence, misses the way he'd casually lean against him or put an arm over his shoulder, misses how easy he is to talk to and actually feel comfortable about it. He just _misses_ Klavier so much.

Going home only provides a different backdrop to be miserable on. Only pausing for the moment of empty disappointment of finding that there is still no letter for him, Sebastian trudges up to his room. He stares up at the ceiling. Now that he's gone and acknowledged what's bothering him, he can't stop thinking about it. Because as he goes over the thoughts that have been in the back of his head since the start of this school year, there's something else to the feelings that he can't quite grasp. Some indefinable other to the longing for his friend's company that he's left puzzling over for days. And as he starts writing letters he knows he can't send yet (because pretending to talk with Klavier is better than nothing at this point), he finds himself with pages upon pages of trying to explain in words that never quite fit, struggling to communicate what's going on because all he knows is that he misses Klavier with a feeling that he doesn't understand but he knows that it _hurts_.

And it's in that desperation that he eventually finds himself going to check for mail himself one afternoon because he just can't _stand_ the waiting any longer.

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian flinches, a hand stuck partway in the mailbox that he withdraws, the lid clattering shut as he shoves his hands under his arms. "I was just checking to see if there was anything…" he trails off as tears start to form.

His father narrows his eyes at him, and for a moment, Sebastian's worried he's done something wrong again. But then Blaise's eyes widen, and he throws his head back with mocking laughter. "Y'know, every time I think you can't be more of an idiot, you keep surprising me. It's been months and you still expect he's going to write to you." He grins the same eager way that always seems to accompany criticisms or some kind of punishment for Sebastian. "You honestly thought he would ever love you?"

The words strike him with a force that might have almost been better were it physical. Sebastian whimpers, then bursts into tears. He dashes to his room, his father's laughter echoing behind him even as he slams the door shut and collapses onto the bed. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid_, he repeats to himself. Pops is right; he's only been lying to himself about the letters. There was no way someone like _Klavier_ would ever really want to be around someone like _him_. Klavier was simply too kind to say anything about it in person and took the opportunity to easily cut things off as soon as he was away. And then…

He chokes out another sob, clutching onto his pillow. For so long he's searched for words to what he's been feeling, and now that he's gotten them he only feels worse. Because his pops is right about that too. Klavier can hardly stand to _talk_ to Sebastian, that much is obvious now. The idea that Klavier could love someone like him…it's pathetic, and Sebastian even more so for falling for him. Sebastian tucks himself as small as he can and resolves to bury his feelings and force himself to accept that they could never be reciprocated.

Blaise scoffs as he looks over the day's mail in his office. Among the pile is another of the now-familiar letters, neatly addressed in purple ink and bearing marks of international postage. He flicks open his lighter and sets it to burn with no small satisfaction. This boy has proven to be more than a little of a thorn in his side – he had never expected the letters to continue months into receiving no response. But as he dusts the ashen remnants off his desk, he doesn't even bother hiding the smile from knowing that at least after _that_ conversation, he won't have to worry so much about hiding them from his idiot son anymore.


	2. Klavier

Klavier composes his first letter before he even finishes unpacking, scribbling it out over a box in his lap because the desk is too cluttered to use. It's nothing too fancy. Just enough to tell Sebastian that he made it safely and give him a mailing address like he promised. It gets sent out a few hours later once he's shown the nearest post box. Klavier knows it'll be a few days' wait both ways (and anyway doesn't expect a response to this one), so he resolves to write another one soon.

'Soon' turns out to be several days later, the single one between orientation and the start of classes. He's simply been so busy that the energy to write out as detailed and heartfelt a letter as he wants simply hasn't been in him. Sprawled across the floor, he fills the page. Themis starts a few days later than them, so hopefully this should reach Sebastian when he's at the same point Klavier is now. He pauses when he thinks of that. It's a nice thought, that all these little facts have lined up so that the two of them are separated by time and distance and yet also technically having this conversation at the same point in their lives.

There's definitely a song in that, he thinks, and smiles as he skips down a few lines to tell that to Sebastian.

He also tells him to watch out for himself this year, especially since "you're going to have to share top of the class with someone else. Try not to make me too jealous?" That had been one of the similarities the two of them had bonded over, along with their age. It wasn't a massive difference from their peers, but they had still been the youngest in every course. Klavier had actually struck up their initial conversation based on this, reasoning that they ought to stick together. Even though they're apart now, he writes, that sentiment hasn't changed.

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He finally gets around to decorating in the second week of classes. After ages of looking at the box of things and meaning to get to it but only ever remembering at the most inconvenient times, he sits up from his textbook and starts right then. It's a complicated affair, with everything he's brought. The highlight, though, is the photographs – a few with his parents (copies, he didn't want to risk bringing the originals); newer ones of just him and Kris; Professor Courte before his first mock trial, her hand on his shoulder and her expression immeasurably proud; random group shots of friends and the band; a lot of weird selfies with Daryan.

Putting them up takes longer than if he were simply doing the physical act. Klavier stops to really look at them, remembering the people with a fondness that only gets stronger when he remembers that he won't be seeing any of them again until he's done here. Each captures his attention for different reasons, but the one that gives him the longest pause is of himself and Sebastian.

Klavier's arm is over his shoulder, the other held out to take the picture. Sebastian's hand is on Klavier's and he's looking at him more than the camera. It had been an ordinary…well, Klavier can't remember the day of the week, but the two of them had been hanging out after school somewhere on the grounds last year when Klavier realized he didn't have any pictures with or of his friend. That situation had to be rectified immediately, of course. The clearest thing Klavier remembers is Sebastian's initial surprise that he even wanted one. Mostly because it was a bit of an odd reaction, but also for how it pulled at Klavier in the same way seeing his friend in distress did, although he has yet to figure out why those seem connected. And then of course, there was Sebastian's wide-eyed look when Klavier presented him with a copy the next day. He had tucked it inside one of his books with delicate care.

Despite having known the fact before, it was only after that event that Klavier's mind had really registered the fact that Sebastian didn't have any other friends. On the barest surface level, he supposed he might understand. But even that was hard because Klavier knew if people took even a few seconds to look past Sebastian's first impression, it wasn't exactly difficult to see what he was really like. Becoming friends hadn't even been any effort. Show Sebastian the smallest bit of interest and kindness and he was all over you. (To the extent that it worried Klavier, sometimes.)

But despite Klavier's subsequent efforts to help expand his friend's social circle, something out of their control always seemed to block their progress. Sebastian gave up relatively quickly, and Klavier respected his wishes enough to drop it as well. Besides, he still had time with Sebastian during the number of classes they shared, plus before and after school, and the lunches where he would sometimes leave his usual table and go sit with him in one of his hiding places (the latter not as often because Sebastian tended to alternate between 'of course you'd want to be with _me'_ and distress about Klavier losing his other friends if he kept doing this).

Klavier sighs as he puts the picture up at eye level. It fits perfectly.

He should write another letter.

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Klavier isn't worried about Sebastian's lack of response yet. Themis keeps students busy even at the beginning of the year, and figuring out international postage does take a while. Besides, words aren't Sebastian's strongest point. If he can be patient with him during conversation, he can certainly extend the same courtesy over written communication.

Being conscious of that does encourage him to tone down on how often he scribbles down some new thought to share with his friend. It's hard going from talking with someone every day to not at all. Klavier's got a lot of friends, but there's always been something about Sebastian that feels…different. In a good way.

A day or so later he's thinking about someone else he's been missing and a thought clicks into place for him. At the bottom of his newest letter, he adds a note asking him to say hello to Professor Courte for him, if he can. (He considers mentioning this to her as well, but decides against it. Better to let Sebastian do it on his own terms.) Now that he's thinking about it, he doesn't know why he never introduced the two of them before. Courte always told him any friend of his was welcome with her. And she'd be good for him, even if only to have someone to talk to.

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Klavier still wouldn't call himself _worried_, but he can't deny a twinge of concern peeking out its head. By this point, it has been a non-insignificant time since he started writing. He checks his mail daily, enough that he won't miss anything, but not so much that he's working himself up. His first thought is that he's somehow messed up the address and practically sprints out at the end of class to go check. Eventually, though, he's forced to admit that the reference he's been using is correct. Besides, if it really were wrong the letters would've been returned by now. Going off of that, though, he starts to think he somehow put the return address on wrong, which isn't exactly anything he can check.

The next time he writes, he makes absolutely sure that he's gotten it perfectly and one hundred percent legible, just in case.

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Midterms roll around and consume his attention. Those days fly past in a whirl of studying and test-taking where the only marker of time is what subject he's working on.

Being done should be a relief. The night after his exams are completed, however, he finds himself unable to sleep, wracked with the dread of having forgotten something very important. It's only during the latest hours that it dawns on him.

"Sebastian," he whispers, clutching his hand to his chest.

(The fact that he's also neglected communication with everyone _else_ back home is realized a little later, and with less fanfare. And _that_ fact isn't something that he will pick up on for a while yet.)

The grip his feelings have on his insides won't let him sleep. But he doesn't write either. There hasn't been much of interest to report, and he hasn't any particular thoughts to say. It's just that he misses Sebastian with a sudden ardency that's a bit alarming, actually. (Another form of homesickness, he figures, to be expected when dealing with the withdrawal from someone you're used to seeing so often.)

Fortunately, the next few days provide him with a diversion in the form of a local music festival. Klavier spends most of his time there after class. It's nice, and by the end of it he's also filled several pages describing everything to Sebastian.

Music's always been the easiest connecting point between them. Despite, or perhaps because of their different preferred styles, it's almost too easy for them to become tangled in complicated discussions, everything else forgotten. In terms of showing the other new music, Klavier is almost always the one doing it, but he doesn't mind. It's far too enjoyable an experience watching Sebastian react to things. That encouraged him, as time went on, to seek out music he thought Sebastian would enjoy, just to get another glimpse at that secret little smile he only seemed to make when that happened. Or sometimes things that he definitely _wouldn't_ like, because his passionate explanations about that were also invariably cute to watch.

It's in that spirit that he's been making recommendations in his letters, even if he isn't going to get Sebastian's immediate reactions. This time is no different, as he makes sure to emphasize the names of those artists who he thinks Sebastian would like.

That isn't the only thing he enjoys about their conversations, he muses one day while studying. Klavier's noticed Sebastian's tendency to make himself bigger or smaller than he actually is when interacting with people. Talking with Klavier about music is one of the only times he doesn't try to do either. He doesn't know what about that situation makes Sebastian feel so at ease, but he's eternally grateful for it.

Because that makes him comfortable as well. Sure, Klavier has other people he can and does talk music with, but there's something different about talking with Sebastian. He figures it's got to do with how passionate he is. Sebastian _cares_ so much, is the only person Klavier's met who shares his level of enthusiasm about music. Who hangs on to every word of Klavier's but still freely expresses his disagreement on things. When they're both in the middle of a discussion and getting progressively more excited, feeding off the other's energy, it feels so _right_. Like that's where the music of his life is and everything else in between those moments is just one big rest.

It isn't until he drifts out of thought that Klavier realizes he's been humming something. He runs through it again and smiles. New music.

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Klavier _tries_ to keep himself from missing Sebastian so much. But it's hard, going so long without talking to him, especially with how often he's reminded of him. In the way he instinctually turns to comment on something in class. In the music he listens to, so much of it having been shared. In the way other people's gestures always make him picture the dips and twists of Sebastian's hand while he's concentrating. Even in the twinges of concern that run through him now and again, his mind used to interpreting not seeing his friend in a while as a signal that he should go look for him.

The missing consumes him, he could say, but the reality is nothing so dramatic. It sneaks up on him, quietly, softly, a variant on feelings he's already experienced but never bothered to identify. And doesn't, until he's getting up, the early morning sun warm and promising on his shoulders. His eyes immediately fall on the picture of Sebastian, and he sighs. It comes to him then, as easily and undramatic as drawing breath. He smiles. Of course. With that recognition everything else falls into context.

He loves Sebastian. Has for some time perhaps, he isn't sure. Not that it matters. All that does is the warm joy of the here and now.

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The first time it does make him pause is the next time he puts pen to paper to write a letter. He wants to tell Sebastian, there's no questioning that. But to do it in writing…he's not sure how right that feels. He'd much rather in person. Then again, it's still months and months until he goes back, and the idea of waiting that long…

So he writes out the rest of what he has to say. Carefully putting that to the side, he takes out some scrap paper. If he can't figure out how to put what he wants to say into writing in a way that he feels satisfied with, then he won't include it.

Nearly a week passes before he finishes striking the right balance. An honest, accurate expression of his own feelings that also make it clear that whatever Sebastian feels (Klavier had taken almost a full day off writing when that hit him, the thought that Sebastian might return the sentiment left him dizzy and clasping a hand to his chest from how full his heart was), Klavier will be fine with it. Klavier's noticed how Sebastian thinks he has to earn people's affection, and the last thing he wants is for that to happen here. That, more than anything else, he thinks, would hurt him to see happen.

He seals the envelope with a careful reverence and holds it close as he takes it to mail. And just like that, the deed is done. All he can do now is wait for Sebastian to read it.

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Having already gone several months without any letters, Klavier really shouldn't be so surprised that Sebastian hasn't responded to this one yet. But as time goes on, he can't stop thinking about how much he wants this time to be different. To get a response. He's wishing with every feeling he has that it's reciprocated, reassuring himself that either way, things will turn out alright.

But eventually, even that certainty begins to shake. Whatever other reasons he's used in the past to understand why Sebastian never writes have been shoved aside as Klavier's convinces himself that now it's because of what he said. If Sebastian is happy, if he loves him as well or even thinks he could, then what reason would there possibly be for him to remain silent in the face of his confession? No, the only answer is Sebastian is angry or repulsed, or feeling like Klavier's taken advantage of his trust. Maybe he has. What right does Klavier have to make such declarations? True, that's what he felt, still feels now, but had he really thought through what it would be like on the other side of that?

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Klavier starts writing again. The first letter is a simple apology, heartfelt as the confession but with quiet contemplation in the place of its warm exuberance. What he said can't be taken back; he could never lie to Sebastian like that even if it might make his friend feel better. But if he can at least atone for what he's done…

He writes many letters of that kind as the days go on. Initially of the same tone and content of the first, in the vague hope that perhaps Sebastian hadn't opened the previous, the hurt of what Klavier had done being too near. But soon they begin to match the desperation in his heart, for the first time asking for a response, begging Sebastian to at least tell him if he was upset, he doesn't even care at this point (that's a lie; he does care. No matter how much he tries to bury it he can't change the fact that even if Sebastian said he despised him to his face it wouldn't be enough to root out the love nestled into the deepest part of Klavier's being. It would only hurt). _Anything _would be better than the agony of not knowing.

He should've waited, he tells himself. Kept it to himself and treasured his feelings just like he's come to treasure the person they concern, until he went back home and had the conversation in person. But _no_. No matter how much he'd dressed it up in pretty phrases, the fact was that Klavier had put his own silly emotions before those of the person he supposedly cared about so much. His brother has told him a thousand times that he is too soft, too emotional, that he runs entirely on impulses of the heart without so much as a thought in his head. And as time stretches ever on, faced with more of the same nothing in response, Klavier finally finally finally begins to resign himself to the fact that every bit of that is right, and now that inability to take things seriously has gone and _ruined_ _everything_, leaving him with the ruins of a friendship and the heartache of knowing he's responsible for hurting the person he loves most.


End file.
